American Psycho
by idioticonion
Summary: Barney Stinson: Awesome by day, killer by night. AU Season 4.
1. Chapter 1

Today he wears Armani: _Fatto A Mano Su Misura_, cashmere with the blue-dyed silk lining; a handmade shirt and sapphire cufflinks. The watch is Seiko, a present from a client, the shoes are KG. His aftershave is pungent, made from Madagascan pepper, bergamot, Virginia cedar and bourbon vanilla. This is a meeting which reeks of money. No man present would choose an identical combination of fabric, silhouette and detail. He feels at home here.

Bilson wears the pinstripe double-breasted Paul Smith, he notices with a supercilious smirk. As if anyone will take _him_ seriously.

Barney sits back and lets everyone else talk. He chooses his time, picks his spot, like a tiger waiting in the long grass, perfectly camouflaged and waiting to strike. Inside him, there's the first stirrings of something, a distant fluttering like soft, angel wings and he knows… He knows that tonight might just be the night. If not tonight, then soon.

The moment approaches and he looks down at his papers, feigning disinterest. This is the most important part, the part that 83% of people get wrong. He waits for the opportune moment.

Then he rises.

Barney Stinson begins to speak.

After all, it's what they pay him for.

*--*--*

_Once, many years ago, James caught him killing a bird. It was just a pigeon and a wounded one at that. The mangy thing had fluttered its way on to the railing and landed on the rickety stairwell outside their apartment._

_The bird had rings around his neck and Barney found himself wondering if they were guide-marks. He'd throttled the life out of the thing before James could drag it out of his tiny, clutching hands. _

_"Barney! Ew! It's got fleas! Mom says…" _

_Barney turned tail and ran, ducking through the door and away from the balcony. He smiled, feeling a weird sort of excitement that made him want to run around the living room in front of the TV till he threw up. _

_He wondered if he could catch a rat or something…_

*--*--*

Bilson hands him a Robaina _Clásico_ and he cuts it with a bullet punch. They light up, drawing the smoke gently into their lungs. "How much?" Bilson asks him.

The numbers slide across the front of his cortex, nestled right behind his eyes, twisting together with balletic simplicity and he smiles, eyes un-focusing as he begins to speak.

"Fifteen percent in year one, rising to sixteen in the second and third year. Overheads are well above thirty, if you take into account the subsidiary they spent a lot of time not mentioning. That's a real-term loss of at least six, even taking into account the merger, or four if we wanted to strip-mine."

When people ask Barney what he does, he always gives them the same response. He doubts anyone would understand. He thinks even Bilson probably doesn't understand.

"Okay…" the other man drawls. He doesn't ask Barney how he does such complex calculations in his head. He stopped asking a long time ago.

"It's not worth it," Barney explains, for the benefit of the hard-of-thinking.

Bilson nods and takes a sip of scotch, coughing a little on his cigar.

Barney rolls his eyes.

*--*--*

_"Barney?" The girl yells from the bedroom. She has long, curly blonde hair which tumbles over her shoulders and across her pert and perfect breasts. She's smaller than he'd like but he hasn't got the luxury of time to be picky. _

_In the kitchen, he pulls a knife from the drawer. Not a large one, nothing too flashy, but it's sharp, the light from the halogen spot-lamps reflecting on the razor-like blade. He smiles, flipping it in the air and catching it by the handle._

_The camera's on the kitchen worktop, battery charged. It's been playing up a little lately and… The thought slips out of his head as the girl calls out again. _

_"Hey, your sheets are all plastic. You into that kinky stuff?"_

_He grins and hefts the camera, sliding the knife into his back pocket. Kinky?_

_No shit. _

*--*--*

He ends up considering a Cannon DSLR because he can't bring himself to buy another Nikkon. But who the hell is he fooling? He rings his guy in Japan and gets the new D3x shipped over by courier. He spends a day experimenting with it, taking it into the office and getting some good shots on the roof, the last distance shots he'll ever take with it. He always does this with a new camera. He has a scrapbook of roof-shots.

Once back in his office, he rings the IS department and gets one of the techie geeks, Nathan, to come up.

"Oh wow!" Nathan says, on seeing the camera. He wants to get his sweaty digits on it, Barney can tell. He loves being the guy who has what other guys want.

Barney laughs, offering over the camera. He makes sure there's a good set of prints covering it before he takes it back, using a silk-shot handkerchief to pick it up.

"Awesome," Nathan says.

Barney laughs.

*--*--*

_This one has black, straight hair and olive skin. Her nipples are mocha and budding as he leaves her lying on his bed, legs spread wide and gasping. He feels the itch beneath his skin, pulling it too tight. Those angel wings are beating loudly against his ears now and it feels like there's a white hot light inside him, bursting to get out. _

_God, he's so hard. He's come twice and he's still so hard. _

_The flash is bright, too harsh on his retinas and the camera whines hard as it recharges. He likes the whine. It drowns out her protests. _

_He takes another picture, one handed, as the other snakes around her neck, jerking upwards under her jaw and squeezing until she's wriggling like a maggot on a hook. He doesn't let go, even though his bicep stand out from the effort. _

_When she's still he drops the camera, fingering the skin of his own arm, tracing the swell of the aching muscle wonderingly. _

*--*--*

He sips a Girvan 1965, slowly, letting the amber liquid coat his mouth just enough to feel the first burn before swallowing. He leans back against the leather seat, letting his leg bump against Robin's. He feels drained and sated and happy but he needs the buzz that only good scotch can give him. Good scotch and _her_.

She laughs easily, her hair brushing his shoulder and receding like an ocean wave.

He's wearing the Dolce & Gabbana black pinstripe, mulberry shirt and tie and black lace-up Prada shoes. The jacket is off, hung over the back of Ted's chair at the end of the table. He takes another tiny sip of the scotch. There's no pressure to rush this.

Ted says something lame and Robin laughs again, her eyes dancing. He feels it jab him a little and jealousy is not something he's entirely comfortable with so he winks at a red-head at the bar and nods his head. She smiles and blushes.

Easy pickings.

He loosens his tie and Robin touches his arm.

"That, Scherbatsky, is why we never let Ted out on his own any more," He says and Marshall laughs, giving him a high-five.

The girl at the bar gives him the flirty eyes and Barney pulls his grin up a notch. He could take her home, should take her home. Or go to her place?

But Robin's hand hasn't moved from his arm and the fact that she has no idea what she's doing to him turns him on.

Because there's only the faintest whisper of angel wings in his head, the merest fluttering of feathers, the red-head can wait.

He turns his upper body towards Robin.

Tonight, he's all hers.


	2. Chapter 2

He places the CD carefully in place and pops the centre on to the spine of his Sony MHC system. He's resisted the lure of MP3 downloads regarding this one particular album as he appreciates the cover art on the jewel case: The stark, black and white photo, the head-shot, all brooding cheekbones and braded hair.

"The thing everyone forgets," He announces, as Robin sits there with an indulgent smile, "Is that Terence Trent D'Arby was a championship boxer, lightweight, before he made this album. The follow-up, of course, could never live up to the expectation set by this incredibly soulful, tightly produced debut."

She smirks. "Yeah, right. So put it on already."

He sighs and lifts his eyes to the heavens. "Robin… Robin. You do _not_ rush Terence. You _never_ rush Terence." He grins, his index finger hitting the triangular button, fast winding to track nine.

The music floats out, gentle, not invasive. The smooth, dulcet tones of Trent D'Arby follow.

"Fortunately you…" Barney sings, softly, barely audible over the dolby 5.1 surround sound system. "…have someone who relies on you. We started out as friends but the thought of you just caves me in…"

She grins, downing her scotch. "I can see why it gets you so many women." She tilts back her head and laughs.

He gives her a mock sad-face.

*--*--*

_He's inspecting the power tools when some blonde chick approaches him. She's got a tight body, athletic. She'll do at a pinch._

_His shopping basket is full: Chainsaw, nail-gun, three rolls of duct-tape…_

_"DIY, eh?" She comments. "You got a lot to do?" _

_The hardware store… old reliable pick-up joint! The wings beat hard against his ear drums, playing havoc with the air pressure. He feels like he's underwater but he grins. _

_"It's hard… " He says, affecting a tremor in his voice. "My wife- she- I'm recently…" He rubs his eyes. "I thought that redecorating the old place might make me forget her. But you never forget." He gives the blonde his best "puppy dog eyes" and lets her put him on a metaphorical leash so that she can take him home. _

_He switches tack when they get into the cab, suggesting that his apartment could do with a woman's touch. It's a line he's used a thousand times. _

_And before she knows it, she's naked and in his bed and he's ripping the cardboard box away from the nail gun and wondering how hard it is to get six inch nails out of plasterboard…_

*--*--*

Ted is sitting next to her, next to Robin, when he arrives. He orders a gin and tonic and settles himself down on the stool at the end of the table. He wants to comment on Ted's sartorial choices, give some sort of witty put down, but the words stick in his throat because he, Barney Stinson, does not get jealous over a chick and act like a tool to his bro.

"Guess what!" Ted says excitedly. "I finally got business cards!" He pulls a little cardboard box from his top pocket and offers them around like a pack of playing cards.

"Woah!" Marshall nods approvingly, turning the card over in his hand. "Ted Mosby, _architect_!"

Barney has to physically suppress a sneer. "Ted, oh Ted…" He says, sadly. "As your best friend, I have to break it to you." He places his own silver case on the table, opens it with one finger, and flips out an elegantly embossed card. To his immense approval, Robin reaches out and catches the card before it lands back on the bar. "Nice reaction Scherbatsky. But… Theodore. If you are going to get a business card, get one in a heavy white card or manila. It's all about class."

Marshall snorts. "Barney, yours aren't even _laminated_!"

Barney shakes his head. "Sometimes I wonder why I even bother."

Robin laughs, reading the card. "Barnaby D Stinson. Consulting detective?" She giggles. "Really?"

Barney grins and gives her a wink. "What did you expect it to say?"

*--*--*

_He looks down at his chest. It's streaked with crimson. His hair is matted with it. He really must remember to go and get that wax on Friday. _

_There's also a smudge of rust-brown on the back of his hand. He brings his knuckles up to his lips and licks them. It tastes like pennies. Like the Liberty Bell. He laughs, delightedly._

_Time for a shower. _

_He steps under the spray, the water turning dirty pink beneath his toes, his fingers catching on the tangles as he scrubs his hair with shampoo. _

_There's another girl in his living room, watching TV. He wonders if he should introduce her to Hayley, the one in his bedroom. _

_Two girls at once. The logistics alone were still enough to give him pause. Two sets of limbs to get through? That was a lot of limbs. The chainsaw would need cleaning first. _

_Perhaps he should just fuck this new one on the couch and send her on her way?_

_He grins, letting the water run in rivulets over his face. No. The bedroom… It would be worth it just to see the expression on her face. _

*--*--*

Picholine: This is where the moneyed and cultured New Yorkers go to dine, Barney tells his friends. Regard the hushed, Old World ambience, the high ceilings, the French country antiques, dazzling chandeliers and tapestries. The service is of the sort that would be only be provided by indulgent, loyal family retainers. The menu, under chef/owner "Terry" Brennan (he knows a guy), is highly-skilled Mediterranean-French. Dishes include a sea urchin panna cotta starter, a horseradish-encrusted tournedos of salmon main course, or more complex mains like poached day-boat halibut with cauliflower mousseline and pistachio gremolata.

You are lucky to get a table if you book six months in advance but Barney can't bear to allow Ted to take them to Asia de Cuba again. It's like eating in a school cafeteria. He feigns sickness at the very thought.

Barney breezes in, letting them follow in his wake. Robin takes his arm and he can feel her bare skin (she's gotten far too skinny lately) as he runs the back of his hand all the way up to the crook of her elbow until they disengage. Then he pulls out her seat like a gentleman.

"This is nice," Lily says, looking around her awkwardly.

He frowns at her. "Nice?"

*--*--*

_On Thursday he gets a manicure and the girl asks him what that is under his nails. He tells her that he's been making beef tartar. She looks at him vaguely and he turns the dial up to eleven and smooth-talks her into agreeing to meet him later at his apartment. _

_He fucks her in the living room, all three cameras running to catch the action from every angle. Right afterwards, he watches it again, distracted by his own performance until that tell-tail jerk through her spine and the spasms that flow through her, leaving her limp and lifeless in his arms. _

_It's that moment that always gets him hard the second time. He smiles, slowly and makes his way back to the couch to admire her body. He's rigged up the sex swing already, telling her it was just some camping equipment he was putting together. _

_It feels like there's an entire aviary in his head and he covers his ears with both palms. He wants to stay in control but it's impossible. _

*--*--*

"Do you ever feel like killing someone?" Robin asks him.

He's not looking at her. There's a girl with smooth ebony skin at the bar who's got the sweetest, peachiest ass and he's thinking of biting right into it. He's thinking about the teeth-marks…

"I said, do you ever feel like killing someone, Barney?" Robin repeats.

"Hmm? Only all the time!" He grins his charming grin. "Wanna go play Laser Tag or something?"

She shakes her head, a lock of hair falling across her face. She hooks it back behind her ear. "No, simulated violence just isn't gonna cut it."

"Shooting range?" He offers.

"I just want to strangle someone with my bare freakin' hands!" She says, her eyes flashing with rage.

He has no idea why she's acting like this but it's turning him on beyond belief and there's no way he should even think about hooking up with her tonight.

The sound of wings beats gently against the inside of his skull, teasing him.

The girl at the bar…

"Barney, can we go back to your place and watch Predator on your painfully-large TV screen?"

"Predator?" He asks with a scoff.

"Don't pretend you don't have it. Besides, I just wanna watch something bleed."

He licks his lips. God, this is such a bad idea.

"Okay," He says, his penis having mysteriously taken control of his brain. "But only if afterwards we can have incredibly hot sex."

"You're on!" She says, laughing mischieviously.

He has difficulty standing up.


	3. Chapter 3

He follows her into his apartment, loosening his tie and popping the top button of his shirt. He's a little nervous, even though he's done this, like, a thousand times before (but who's counting) and he has to keep reminding himself that this isn't just some chick, it's Robin.

She turns towards him and drags him into the centre of the room. She's a little drunk and it wrong-foots him a little. But he's patient and he can wait.

"You wanna play Battleship?" She said with a slight hiccup.

He shakes his head, bemused. "I thought you wanted to watch Predator?"

She laughs a quick "Oh yeah," and reaches for the remote, standing in front of the dark TV wall-screen.

There's something inside her so perfect that he wants to rip it out of her.

His fingers suddenly find the piano wire in his trouser pocket and he has it out, looping it around her neck and tightening it before his brain catches up with his hands.

Part of him asks: "Why now? Why tonight?" But that little voice is drowned out by the roaring between his ears, deafening him. It isn't angel wings, he knows that now. The feathers are black as midnight and there's talons in there somewhere, ready to tear at those who come too close.

She came too close.

Robin's choking, trying to get a grip on the thin, slippery wire, but he holds on to her tightly and, when she begins to lose consciousness, he lets go and drags her into the bedroom. He deposits her heavily on the bed, straddling her before she can come to her senses. The wire is still looped round her throat, slack for the moment but ready for when he needs it again. He wonders how long he can keep her alive, squeezing the breath out of her, inch by inch. He wonders if he can keep it together enough to fuck her while he does it.

When she doesn't open her eyes, he leans forward, tilting his upper body so that his lips are pressed to her cheek. "Oh, Ro-bin," He whispers.

He feels the jab between his legs, just behind his balls, before he realises she's been faking. The pain is incredible and crippling and he rolls off her, a yell of agony stuck in his throat. The piano wire zings away from his fingers and she's off the bed and running before he can curse himself for not tying her legs down.

Bitch. Clever, awesome, bitch. Now he's lost her and he deserves it because he's stupid and she's somehow got through his usual, careful defences.

There's a click and a jab of cold metal against his temple. He opens his eyes, looking up and sees her holding a 9mm semi-automatic against his forehead.

"Give me one good reason not to blow your brains out right now, you sick sadistic motherfucker!"

*--*--*

_He never actually takes home any of the girls from the Lusty Leopard because, well, Platinum Rule? But one of his regulars, Cairo, has a menu of tasty treats that he can choose from. He's careful not to indulge too often. _

_Sienna Razorwhip (yeah, seriously?) says that she's into "light S & M" which makes him chuckle. He still vaguely horny from the lap dance Cairo threw in for free and now Sienna's got her hands down his pants and he's not complaining but this isn't what he's paying her for. _

_"What do you do, handsome?" She asks him. _

_He chuckles. "I kill people…" He says, grinning. "Now, get on the bed," He tells her. "Strip and stroke yourself…" _

_Sienna gets on with it and he watches her with vague interest. She's far too fake to really get his groove on - the noises she makes are just annoying. He opens his sock drawer and there, nestled between two neat balls of wool-rich Ted Bakers are a small, rubber-handled pair of secuteurs. _

_He grins, lifting them out of the drawer and snaps off the safety catch. _

_He wonders what noises she'd make if he cut out her tongue. _

*--*--*

Robin's breathing heavily. She's scared, he can tell. But her arm is firm and her gaze is steady. There's something in her eyes that he recognises. He wonders if she can hear the beating of wings because, in his own head (for the first time that he can remember) there's utter silence.

"Has anyone ever told you how hot you look when you're angry?" He says, managing a smile.

She pistol whips him across the face and he's momentarily stunned, his mouth filling with blood. She keeps surprising him. It's weirdly great. He doesn't mind dying like this, at her hand. He probably deserves it. Being shot is probably _more_ than he deserves.

Robin's fingers pull at his throat, ripping off his tie. He can taste copper as his head bumps back on the bed, and blood trickles, warm and wet, down his chin. One handed, the gun now poking into his neck, she manages somehow to yank one arm above his head and tie it to the metal loop in his headboard. He laughs and tries to elbow her away but he's woozy and the move misses her by a mile. She shoves her knee into his side as she secures his other hand. He doesn't give up, but balls his hands into fists to try and give himself some wiggle room for later.

It hits him that he might not ever get free and that she probably won't want to kill him quickly.

He opens his eyes to find hers, cold and calculating, staring right into his. She leans forward and kisses him, hurting him where her teeth catch his torn lip. When she pulls back, her own lips are a scarlet smudge and she looks demonic.

"So," He says, grinning. "That hot sex you agreed to earlier..? Don't think I've forgotten!"

*--*--*

_It's not like he doesn't feel anything. It's not like he's Patrick Bateman or something lame like that. He feels plenty. It's just, sometimes his fingers don't seem like they're connected to his body. His fingers do a lot of bad stuff. _

_He's back in the bar about half an hour after he's said goodbye to Sienna. His hair is still damp when he orders his first scotch. _

_Ted, Marshall and Lily are at their usual table but he needs five minutes, just to transition, just so that he can ease back into his own skin before he goes and talks to them. _

_He's worked out a new rule for dating that he's just dying to tell Ted but he wants to wait till Robin's there. It's important to him to get all their reactions to any new theory. They are his test bed, after all. His clinical trial. His experimental group. _

_Robin arrives a quarter of an hour later and lightly taps his shoulder. When he turns around and smiles, he sees himself reflected in her eyes. _

_"Go sit down, I'll get you a drink," He tells her, eagerly. _

_Sienna is completely forgotten. _

_It's like she never even existed. _

*--*--*

Robin shifts up the bed and grinds herself against him but this isn't like a lap dance. This is _so_ much better. One side of his face is raging with pain but this incredible, insistent pressure on his dick is stopping him from making any kind of protest. He really wants to reach down and grab her ass but can only pull fitfully at his bonds. Where did she learn to tie knots like that? She's done this before, he realises.

"Robin, don't-" His words are choked off as she fingers the tongue of his belt, pulling it quickly through the buckle and unbuttoning his suit pants until he can feel her fingernails drag up and down the bulge that she's exposed. He lets out an inarticulate cry and the bitch climbs off him, leaving him hard and hanging.

"Robin!" He cries out, frantically, but she's rooting around in his dresser and pulls out a strip of condoms. It feels like his heart has expanded until it's jammed hard against his ribcage because if she touches him now he's gonna explode.

"You really are one sick puppy," She murmurs, pulling out the knife that was also sitting in the drawer. "What's this for? You want me to cut it off?"

Robin looks pointedly at his groin and he shakes his head, eyes wider than wide. He swallows as she drags the metal tip over the thin material of his underwear. He feels the scratch and tries desperately not to flinch.

"Then be a good boy…" Robin purrs and, god, she's good at this. He always suspected that she had something of the dominatrix in her but it's never really surfaced before. Using the knife, she pops every button on his shirt, one by one, and by the time she's got to his throat, he's vibrating with the effort to keep still.

If his hands were free right now he'd… he'd…

She licks on a nipple and blows on it and his back arches off the bed like he's being electrocuted.

"You want me to bite it off?" She asks him, her teeth grazing the bud. He doesn't tell her that he was thinking the exact same thing.

Holy crap.

Her nose makes a trail down to his navel and he struggles fitfully. He's both scared and desperate for her to get anywhere near-

The top two buttons of her blouse have come undone, he notices, as she sits up. He can see the swell of her breast. While he's staring, she's fished his dick out of his pants and she's tearing the condom out of the packet with her teeth.

He's barely registered that she's still holding the gun until she jabs it hard against his ribs, just below his nipple. She manages to sheath his penis with one hand (what a woman) and growls "this better not be quick. Remember, if I get pissed, my finger might just slip…"

She really doesn't need the threat. There's no way he wants this to be over. When it's over, she might just come to her senses.

She pulls off her panties and the act is so abandoned, so damn slutty, that he has to think of Marshall naked in order to calm himself down. Come on, Stinson… doughy, Minnesota boy…

Then she eases down on top of him and freezes for a few seconds. He's not having any of it. He bucks his hips hard, suddenly, throwing her off guard and getting another inch inside her. She gasps with pain/pleasure and has the gall to laugh.

"Were you going to kill me, you bastard?" She says, the gun falling slightly to the side and he gives her another brutal thrust. "Oh fuck-" She says, her skin flushing.

"Robin," he says, "Please…" He's about to explode, he's so close, he has to concentrate and she has to stop bouncing around like that.

Almost as if she's heard him, she slackens the pace. Perhaps it's too much for her, too. God, if only he had his hands free…

Robin's undulating her hips slowly, leaning down to kiss his face where she hit him. Her lips feel cool against his bruised cheek. She's moving a little faster and he can feel (knows they _both_ feel) that this is the beginning of the end. They are stuck on the roller coaster now and there is no getting off. He wishes they could, that there was more they could do right now but at least he got to- got- to-

Oh fuckchristjesus!

She clenches around him and he comes so hard that it's like she's tearing something out of him with barbed wire and he's left open and bleeding beneath her, all his innards exposes and sensitive.

He twitches, unable to remember if she made a sound although he knows he heard something. Was it her or him?

Robin's laughing. "Jesus _Christ_, Barney!" She says.

He shakes his head helplessly, questioningly.

"Next time I'm going to have to gag you…"

"Next time?" He repeats.

She itches her nose with the gun and grins down at him, her teeth smeared with bright crimson.

"Why, aren't you enjoying this?"

He considers the question. "It would be better if I had my hands free."

She laughs. "Maybe later, I'll think about it."

He nods, sanguinely. Perhaps, all things considered, that was probably for the best.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Midnight Rambler

Summary: Sequel to American Psycho. Robin POV.

Warning: Saturated in sex and violence.  
============================

The girl is perfect: Pneumatic porn-star breasts, bleach-blonde hair that hangs down to her tiny waist and the kind of high-pitched voice that strays just the wrong side of irritating.

Robin couldn't have wished for better.

The girl stumbles into the living room, her legs wobbling on her six-inch heals. She looks like a baby giraffe and is just as vulnerable. Barney follows her inside, pulling on the bow of her dress like it's a ribbon on a present he's unwrapping. His hands are all over her, careful not to bruise even though the stupid bimbo's pawing at him like a addict scratching for the last grains of smack from a foil wrapper.

Bruising will come later.

Hopefully.

He's told Robin to wait in the bedroom and watch him on the tiny CCTV screen, but it's black and white and she needs to see everything in shades of red.

When he grabs the girl's hair and yanks back her head, Robin's hand strays between her legs, hitching up her skirt. She's never been this turned on before. When Barney had told her exactly what he'd been doing with all those girls, when he'd tried to do it to her, something had clicked inside her, coming together like two cogs in perfect alignment.

She'd asked him how he did it. Not why… _how_.

He'd smiled and told her she could watch if she liked. And because she'd had him tied to the bed at the time, she'd decided that she'd be the one giving the orders.

There is a sudden screech from the other room, making Robin jump. With no sound on the CCTV, the scenario has played out like a silent movie. This sudden intrusion of audio into the visual experience is jarring, making her flush hot and cold and her heart beat a little faster.

Robin's eyes widen as she sees him drag the girl across the floor by her hair, like some kind of caveman, while the stupid bitch flails around ineffectively. The screaming is cut off when he loops something around her neck and pulls it until her limbs go limp. Like this, the girl looks like a broken Barbie-doll. He hefts her easily in his arms and carries her into the bedroom.

Robin smiles, not bothering to move her hand from between her legs and he laughs when he sees her. "I always knew you liked to get caught…" He says, dumping the girl on the bed.

Stripped down, his mattress is sheathed in plastic like a prophylactic and he secures the girl's feet to the tethers at the end of the bed like a pro.

"You want to do this fast and play with the body?" he says, grinning like a kid in a candy store, "or go sloooow…?"

Robin laughs, tossing her head and popping the top button of her blouse. "Surprise me," she replies, huskily. He knows what reward he's getting. "Then again," She drawls, "I want you to fuck me bloody."

She sees his breath hitching in his throat and he walks over to her, stripping off his shirt. "I _love_ you," he murmurs before cupping her cheek and kissing her tenderly. She gives him a secret smile, then smacks his ass as he turns around. "Well, get on with it then!", she tells him.

Reaching under the bed, Barney pulls out a nail gun and flashes her a demonic grin. She follows his gaze and can just make out the many tiny holes in the plasterboard behind the bed. Robin's mouth falls open and she gulps at the air. Her body jolts as her fingers finally connect with her clit and send a shockwave of raw pleasure through her.

*--*--*

The girl screams herself awake. There's a dull, cracking, splintering sound as the gun fires each bolt. First he does the fingers of the girl's left hand, but it takes too long and Robin is moaning with frustration so he secures her other arm by the wrist. The girl shrieks and shrieks as rivulets of blood crawl down her arms and the noise knocks Robin's mood a little so she shifts in her chair, covering her ears with her hands.

"Can't you _do_ something about that noise?" She yells at Barney.

He shrugs, as if it has no effect on him at all, although Robin can see that he's hard, can see the bulge in his boxers where he's undone his pants and they've slipped down a little over his slender hips. She wants him to jerk off, she wants to _watch him_ jerk off, but there are other more pressing things to do.

She is _literally_ going to kill that bitch if he doesn't stop her screeching.

Barney tilts his head as he observes the girl, crying and pleading, her heavy makeup running down her face in two sticky tracks of mascara and greasepaint. He slowly opens the drawer beside the bed and pulls out a small fruit knife, bending over the girl and grabbing her face as she screams into his own.

Robins shifts around for a better look.

There's a crunch as he squeezes the girl's jaw and pulls out her tongue, slicing through it with one quick (too quick) practiced motion. The girl practically vomits blood, the crimson liquid pouring in a thick froth down her chin.

At least it shuts her up.

As the girl chokes and gags, Barney discards the knife for its larger mate, also nestling in the drawer. He brandishes the blade and Robin swears she can hear a "zing" as it slices the air. She pops three buttons in quick succession, wriggling out of her blouse and gasping as the material brushes against her sensitised nipples.

Robin just about manages to catch her breath in time to see him swipe the knife across the bimbo's chest, blood spattering across his face. He turns the knife and passes it into his left hand, slashing down twice more in quick succession. The girl's body jerks like a marionette with each blow and at one point he must have hit and artery because it's like someone's turned on a faucet and he's covered in her blood in seconds.

On the bed, the girl gurgles. Her eyes, which seconds before had been wide with terror are now heavy lidded and her body twitches.

Barney stares at her for a moment and then shakes himself. "Quick!" He says urgently. "Come on, Scherbatsky! If you wanna do the deed, you gotta be quick!"

Robin rushes to the bed, leaping on to it so that she can straddle the girl and grabs the knife from his hand. It feels reassuringly heavy in her palm, and cold, like it's waiting for her heat. Grasping the handle in both hands to steady it, she takes a deep breath, pointing the blade down so that the tip is perfectly in line with the base of the girl's throat.

She waits a moment, just to see the fear in the bimbo's blue eyes, then she plunges the knife down with all her strength.

There's a surprising resistance, considering how damn sharp the knife is but Robin's strong and she doesn't stop even when she feels the tip hit the girl's spine. Instead, she twists it, angling the blade so that she can cut upwards towards her chin but her fingers slip and she realises that both her hands are covered in blood, glistening and cherry-red.

Barney grins. "Not bad for a rookie," he says. "You almost had her head off."

Robin takes a shaky breath, her heart hammering in her chest as if she's just run a minute-mile.

Barney puts a hand on her shoulder to steady her as she pulls out the knife. He lowers his voice, giving her his dirtiest drawl as he says "How do you feeeel?"

Robin grins, turning towards him and pulling him in for a kiss. She can taste warm iron on his lips. "I feel…. Awesome…" She says.

*--*--*

It takes them a while (too long) to wrap the body; longer than it should because Barney insists that they do it naked and they can't seem to keep from touching each other.

Which is distracting…

Finally, when the task at hand is completed, they collapse back on to the mattress and he turns her over so she's lying on the sticky red mess on her belly. He begins to kiss her all the way down her spine to her buttocks and Robin growls, low in her throat, animalistically. She suddenly understands why lionesses let lions fuck them, even though they basically seem to be really terrible lays.

Barney is anything but a terrible lay.

He grabs her around the waist and hoists her up on to her knees, one hand squeezing her breast as he whispers in her ear, "Just think, next time that could be _you_ that I nail to the bed." He chuckles and she stiffens, which is exactly the reaction he wanted, of course.

She winces as she feels him enter her, hard and fast, not giving her a moment to recover her poise. It should be painful but it isn't, the pleasure blossoming quickly into a kind of hot, thrumming whirl. She grits her teeth against it, resisting it, but he's so brutal, yanking back her head by a fistful of her hair (he'll pay for that later) and nipping playfully at her throat while he fucks her, hard and fast.

She gets his rhythm and falls into it (so perfect) and she's crying out his name as his movements become more jerky, more uncontrolled and she knows she's close/he's close to an ecstasy that sweeps right through the core of her body making her toes curl, fingers clench, jaw lock in place and she comes…

Robin's scalp tingles as he releases her, his wilting penis slipping out from inside her. He falls on to the bed next to her, on to his back, his expression one of shock and a little bewilderment. She can't help but laugh. He looks exactly like she feels.

Robin lets her body sink down on to the mattress and she reaches out to skim her fingers across his chest, tracing the shape of his pectoral muscles, a few flakes of dried blood sticking to her skin.

"Say we can do that again, soon?" She whispers.

He laughs. "You're insatiable."

"That I am." She agrees, wriggling close to him and kissing him tenderly on the cheek.


	5. Caught

**Caught**

_Today he wears Armani, simple black single-breasted, a charcoal Prada shirt and matching silk tie. Silver cufflinks and Tag watch show he's dressing down. A little funereal perhaps, but __she__ likes it and that's the important thing. _

_He's feeling relaxed, confident. They did their thing so recently that the buzzing has subsided into a satisfied hum, just for a little while. _

_This is why he makes his fatal mistake. _

_He slides into the booth beside Robin, throwing his arm casually across the back, his fingers brushing her bare shoulder. At the contact with warm flesh, his hand caresses her upper arm and she leans in, so automatically, so naturally that he doesn't question it. Last night, they lay in each other's arms, covered in sticky crimson wetness and they made love, real love, although the word never once left either of their lips. _

_He wants her __now__. He wants her so urgently that it's hard to keep control. He wants to drag her out of the booth by her hair, all the way to the restrooms and push her against the cold tiles and ram himself into her, over and over slamming her skull into the wall until she-_

_"Hey!" Lily says, because she notices, because she should be a goddamn law enforcement officer not a kindergarten teacher. "Hey, when did you two get together?"_

_They jerk away from each other, too quickly, too obviously, and the game is up. _

*--*--*

"Awwwww!" Lily went all mushy on them, grabbing Barney's cheek and pinching it. "This is the cutest thing! You guys!" He batted Lily away and she covered her chest with both hands instead, giving them a big, soppy grin and an over-the-top sigh. "I knew you two would get together eventually."

He raised an eyebrow and Robin just looked non-plussed. "Lily, Please…" Robin was cool with it all. She simply rolled her eyes and looked away.

He felt a little nervy and he pulled at the knot in his tie. "It 'aint a thing!" He said as Marshall gave him an outraged glare. Barney knew what that was all about. Marshall was upset that he didn't confide in him, that Robin hadn't become the latest subject of locker-room gossip with Billson and Blauman - why Barney hadn't become a figure of fun at the workplace.

As if he'd ever give them the ammunition!

Now, of course, it will be hard to deflect. But he'd got a couple of tricks up his sleeve for just such an occasion.

It had been a while since he pointed the finger at Blauman, or at Sheila Bessle, Marshall's boss.

He sneered at Marshall as Robin settled back against him. She was his and he didn't care who knew it.

That is, not until Ted walked into the bar.

*--*--*

_She's so inventive, that's what he loves about her. _

_Robin's got this thing she does with the girls, now. She started it a few weeks ago and now she does it every time. It gets him hard just thinking about it. _

_Robin gives them hope. _

_After he's tortured them for a while, after he's cut them up a bit, Robin will walk in and offer to set them free. Seeing the pathetic look in their eyes, the need to escape, the desperation, he often jerks himself off, remembering that look. _

_Of course, when a girl tied to his bed is offered even a shred of hope, even an impossible one, she'll do anything he wants. _

_Anything. _

_The other day, one had sucked him off then let him fuck her up the ass, willingly, gratefully, even though she'd screamed in pain. _

_Robin had cut her throat just to shut her up, and the blood had gushed over her hands like a waterfall._

_God he loved her then. _

*--*--*

"Why do you do it?" Ted asked him, as Barney watched the blonde stagger over to the bar, one ankle twisting beneath her as she tried to balance on those ridiculous heels.

"Do what?" He said, the last word mumbled into his tumbler of scotch.

"Piss her off?"

Barney looked up, confused. "Muh?"

"Robin. Why do you piss her off?" Ted sighed. "Look, dude. I can see the attraction… the ample attractions of that chick by the bar. But what is she? Nineteen? You're sitting there blatantly ogling her while your girlfriend watches and it's pissing her off."

Barney looked around guiltily. He wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to modifying his behaviour, second guessing other people. This was the mask he wore at MacLaren's, one he'd spent years perfecting. He couldn't swap it for another one that easily.

His predatory grin, the _mask_, it crumbled. Was Robin really upset? The bimbo at the bar forgotten, he followed Ted back to their table and sat down opposite Robin. He didn't feel comfortable, all of a sudden. Something was digging itself deep into his gut, something swelling and growing and making his heart race. He felt… like he was going to spin out of control any moment, like he was going to tilt and fall, spiralling, all his armour shattering as he hit the floor.

He didn't meet Robin's eye, instead reaching for his phone and faking a text message; inventing an excuse to leave them. He stalked over to the door and pulling it open, and the freezing air hit him. His hands began to shake.

At the edge of his sense he was dimly aware of being followed, of someone pushing through the press of bodies in the crowded bar but he ducked into a cab and it pulled quickly away.

He ran four flights of stairs up to his apartment, locked himself in, threw the deadbolt and collapsed on to his bed, cold sweat sticking his shirt uncomfortably to his skin. He lay perfectly still, even when he heard the intercom buzz, heard the hammering on the door, heard his cell phone beep and beep and ring.

He closed his eyes and didn't get to sleep for hours.

Instead, he fantasised.

*--*--*

_He wants Robin, strapped to a chair. He wants to take a straight razor to her soft, chestnut hair, leaving tiny scratches in her neck and forehead where his strokes become clumsy, frenzied. _

_He has to be nude for this. _

_She has to have her arms tied behind her back, wrists bound with plastic ties, ankles taped to the chair. _

_He cuts away at her clothes, piece by piece, letting the knife nick the swell of her breast, her belly, her inner thigh. He lets his tongue trace where the knife scores her flesh, revelling as each bead of blood bursts, iron rich, against his lips. _

_He moans, gripping the shaft of his erection to prevent himself coming, letting the tip brush the corner of her mouth as she tries to turn away in disgust. _

_(No, not disgust… she'd be enjoying this… wouldn't she? Would she? Was it better if there was fear in her eyes?)_

_The thrill that goes through him at the thought, the way his dick leaps in his hand, should be enough to answer that question. _

_(Would she beg him? "Please, don't kill me." So many bimbos have begged so, no, Scherbatsky wouldn't beg.)_

_"Let me go, you bastard!" _

_That's better - there's fire in her eyes, a sneer on her lips. But she's trembling and when he drags the battery across the floor she makes an odd, yelping noise in the back of her throat. _

_A single tear lodges dislodges from the corner of her eye, falling down her cheek, tracking mascara across her flawless skin. _

_His lip curls as he fixes the metal clamps to her nipples, to the lips of her vagina, the sharp teeth drawing blood where they bite into her flesh. _

_She's screaming before he even turns the dial and her body convulses, her mouth snapping shut as the electricity spikes through her. She screams hysterically, wordlessly, even after he cuts the current. _

_Then he comes at her with the knife. _

_She flinches but all the fight in her is gone. So he cuts the bonds around her wrists, slices through the tape around her ankles and she tries to lunge off the chair, falling to the ground (she's still weak from the electric shock). She crawls across the floor, sobbing, and he makes no move to stop her. _

_"There's no way out…" He said, not raising his voice. He doesn't need to. "There's no way out except through me."_

_And when she turns to look at him, she knows that it's true. _

_The feeling of absolutely power flows through him, so strongly, so suddenly, that it makes him come. _

*--*--*

The next day, he divided his time between the cigar club (_Edición Limitada Montecristo) _and the Lusty Leopard (five lapdances, three scotch and sodas). Robin finally tracked him down at work and he kicked himself for not telling security to keep her out.

"I could tell the cops, you know…" She said.

He starts. She couldn't be threatening him? After all, she was in this just as deep as he was. Even more so! She was far less careful than him and who knew what she got up to in her own time. He swallowed and looked up at her.

"You," she said with a wintry smile. "Going all missing persons on us. Where were you last night?"

He shrugged. "With a barely legal college chick called Nancy. She had a mouth like an industrial suction pump." He held her gaze, daring her to challenge him. He'd lied to better interrogators than her and held his nerve.

"You wanna do something tonight?" She asked, her tone a little too casual.

"Do something or…" He waggled his eyebrows. "_Do_ something?"

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Barney."

"Babe, I'm all yours…"

She narrowed her eyes. "You'd better be."

He spread his hands in front of him. "I guess you'd like to teach me a lesson?"

She snorted. "You…" she leaned in and whispered in his ear. "won't be able to sit down for a month…"

He shifted in his seat, his pants suddenly a little too restrictive across his groin. "Should I set dinner for three?"

She winked at him and laughed and he wondered what she'd say if he tied her to the chair, if he…

But no, she was far too much fun walking around being Robin Scherbatsky.

Certainly for now…


End file.
